Student Body
by caughtinblackseyes
Summary: Mary-Margaret takes over a fellow-teachers class. One student takes a shine to her and decides to take matters into his own hands so that his teacher can see that it's ok to check out the student body. This fic is not for the young! Teacher/Student sex, spanking, biting, rough sex.


I haven't watched OUAT since the season where they had the characters from Frozen on the show, so this can either be read as staking place in early season 1 or as an AU fic, so it's totally up to you.

This fic was requested by a reader and I haven't done a request before, so I hope they think I did a decent job of it.

There is under-aged sex in this fic! There is spanking, biting and rough sex! Don't read it if you don't like it!

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Student Body

Mary-Margaret nervously rubbed her thighs together while shimmying awkwardly on her chair. The new boy was staring at her again. He'd been doing that quite frequently and she found it both embarrassing and curious. She wasn't the type of woman that people stared at. Her ears were too big, her smile too wide and her hair too short for her to be thought attractive in the conventional sense. She did possess fine qualities, but physical components wasn't really one of them, although there was that doctor at the hospital who thought her gamine-like looks appealing.

Perhaps he made her uncomfortable because she generally dealt with younger children and older boys weren't something she was used to. Mary-Margaret had offered to do the remedial after school class for Judy after she'd been told that bed-rest was a must until her baby was born.

There were only a few students in attendance and it seemed to her that each day brought less and less of them to the classroom. She was a good teacher, but they seldom asked for her assistance, so she was left to her own devises more often than not.

Today, there was only one other student apart from the boy occupying her thoughts, and neither looked as if they had anything of note to work on. Peeking up through her lashes, Mary-Margaret gave the disturbing young man a quick glance before returning to her nonsensical scribbling.

He was a good-looking boy, with his dark tousled hair and a tall slim frame, but it was his eyes that were the real heart-stopper. They were green and not just any green either. His were a glorious light, light green. They reminded Mary-Margaret of those old, glass coke bottles with the barest tinge of color to the glass, just on the edge of no color at all.

Some days, she noticed that they were more of a sea green, the colors churning from light blue to pale green, a swirl of white-foamed, endless, turbulent waters. It never dawned on Mary-Margaret that she spent far too much time attempting to pin down a precise simile for those eyes; never realized the inappropriateness of even trying to. It wasn't a conscious thing, this fascination, so Mary-Margaret didn't dare recognize it for what is was. Pure physical attraction.

The first week she'd been subbing, Mary-Margaret thought it best to read up on her new students. She'd started with the file marked: Jackson Dawes. There wasn't much since he was new to the area and his old school records hadn't caught up with him yet. Meaning that academically, she was in the dark as to his true potential or even as to why he was taking remedial classes.

She glanced over the personal information section; there wasn't much there either. Parents divorced. Living with his father. Only child. Sixteen years old. No urgent medical conditions. Standard emergency number to call if necessary. She noted that he lived only a few blocks from her own home, and there was nothing written under the place of employment section for the guardian. She left without opening any other files.

She started violently when a deep voice interrupted her thoughts by calling her name. "Sorry if I scared you, Miss Blanchard."

Mary-Margaret found herself eye-level to a denim-clad crotch. Her gaze skittered to the side, color sweeping swiftly up her neck, burning bright spots onto the translucent, white skin of her cheeks.

Clearing her throat, she answered in a voice that cracked, "Oh, no… it's fine, I was just… um, marking papers. Is there something I can help you with," she asked, finally looking him in the face.

He was smiling at her. No, it was more of a smirk. A _knowing_ smirk. Clearly, he was aware that he rattled her, and clearly he found the idea amusing. Mary Margaret was not going to allow this ruffian to throw her off her game. She was the adult here! It was her class, and she was in charge, not this young man staring down at her with his perfectly proportioned lips twisted into a smug smirk and his stupid, gleaming green eyes rife with obvious mockery.

Stuffing his large hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he drawled, "Yeah, I'm hoping so. I was wondering if I could ask you a question." He paused, tilting his head to the side, observing her through heavily-lidded eyes. _Green_ eyes. Oh, so green!

Mary-Margaret interlaced her slim fingers tightly together, placing her hands atop the desk, not caring how prim she must look. "Of course you can, Jackson. That's what I'm here for."

She was pleased at how professional she sounded with just the right tone of encouragement. Requesting help from teachers tended to be difficult. Especially if you didn't want to appear stupid and most young men did not want to come across as stupid.

Hazel eyes widened in shock, when he asked, "How old are you?"

Blinking, she answered with a confused, "What?"

She felt her spine stiffen in outrage when those magnificent orbs casually gave her the once over. Mary-Margaret knew what he saw. Pixie-styled black hair – darker than his own, but not by much – combed down flat against her skull. Finely arched brows framing almond-shaped hazel eyes ringed with lashes so lush, that she needed no eyeliner to emphasize their beauty.

Not that she thought her eyes anything out of the ordinary though, unbeknownst to her, others thought them lovely. A somewhat rounded face enhanced by a small, slightly jutting chin, her complexion rivaling the finest ivory with lips that were an enticing bow-shape, devoid of lipstick because their natural cherry shade needed no such adornment.

Moving slowly downward, he took in the powder blue sweater placed precisely over slim, fragile-looking shoulders the top button fastened over a demure, perfectly starched white blouse with scalloped edging at her throat. Nothing fancy, and nothing showy. She tended toward presenting herself as simple and professional, purposefully avoiding drawing attention to her figure. Yet, his eyes fastened with great intensity on her breasts, though thoroughly encased and hidden from view, she felt naked and vulnerable.

When his scrutiny finally returned to her face, Mary-Margaret was flushed with color, breathing erratically; pulse pounding in her throat. "You can't be more than twenty-six," Jackson drawled with impudent assurance.

Taking a deep breath, Mary-Margaret informed him tartly, "That is a completely inappropriate question and…" She broke off when he chuckled, a slight dimple making an appearance in his left cheek. "You find this situation amusing," she demanded, eyes flashing.

Leaning forward, placing his palms on her desk, bringing his face dangerously close to her own, he answered with a cheeky grin, "Sorry Teach, but for a minute there, you sounded just like my grandma. You sure don't look like her though," he added, daring to brush his fingers slowly down one flushed cheek. "Thought so," Jackson murmured. "Knew your skin would be as soft as the downy on a baby swan."

Mary-Margaret belatedly, yanked her head back as if burned, scanning the room for that one remaining student. As if reading her mind, Jackson muttered with a humorous twist to his lips, "Oh, he's long gone, Teach. Just you and me." Then added with evident relish, "All _alone_."

"I think you should go," Mary Margaret breathed lowly. "I'm sure your father will be wondering where you are."

"I doubt that," Jackson argued her point, bottle-glass eyes narrowing. "See, he don't give a shit about anything other than himself. Fact is, we probably won't be in this little picture-perfect town for very long. Never stay in one place more than a month or two."

A wave of compassion swept over her at this young mans' plight. "That must be difficult," she said, eyes softening.

Making himself comfortable on the corner of her desk, Jackson, said with a modicum of anger in his voice, "Don't go feeling sorry for me, Teach. I'm not some lost stray who can't take care of myself. Been doing it for as long as I can remember, and I've learned a thing or two."

"Such as," Mary-Margaret inquired with a slight tilt to her head, intrigued in spite of herself.

"Well," he began, pinning her in place with the intensity in his voice and in those amazing eyes of his. "Such as, nothing ever gets handed to me. If I want something, I have to take it." Leaning forward, voice rumbling from deep in his chest, he purred, "Guess what I want right now?"

Mary-Margaret felt like a deer being hunted by a wild animal, and he was wild with that feral gleam in his pupil-blown eyes, face filled with harsh hunger. One hand flew to her chest, trying to still the sudden rampaging beat of her heart. She needed to get out of here, to escape! As if realizing her intent to flee, he rounded the desk, pulling her to her feet; caging her with his body, pushing her back against the chalkboard.

"Please, stop," she begged weakly, angling her head down and off to the side, refusing to look into those mesmerizing, knee weakening eyes. She told herself what she was feeling was trepidation at being unjustly harassed by a student, but the burn low in her belly told a far different tale.

Standing bare inches apart, Mary-Margaret caught the sheer male scent of him; spicy and masculine making her awareness of him skyrocket. She tried to break away from this awful thrall, tried to speak, tried to find her voice; but it was lost to her. Common sense and all decency flew out the window when he crowded further into her space, the hard muscles of his chest pressing deliciously against her own soft contours, while erratic puffs of air ghosting over the delicate shell of her ear made her shiver in anticipation. To her shame, she heard herself let out a small moan.

Groaning, Jackson whispered encouragement of her body's reaction against the exposed skin of her neck, "That's it, Teach… let me make you feel good. It's gonna be sooo good." He promised her, while lightly brushing his lips over the sensitive area just behind her ear.

"This is… this is... wrong," she began to protest, but was abruptly cut off by a wanton gasp of pleasure when his hand roughly yanked her blouse from the waistband of her skirt, his warm palm sliding sinuously over the small of her back.

"Oh," she moaned, breaking out in gooseflesh as he continued to explore the slim contours, nails lightly scratching down the spine, her body arching toward him in invitation.

"You don't need this," Jackson rasped while pulling at the button of her sweater, wrenching it off her shoulders and throwing it to the floor. Nipping and pulling at the milky-whiteness of her neck, he murmured, sounding less in control as his seduction gathered strength, "Damn, you're responsive. Can't wait to be inside you, bet you're tight, real tight. That pretty little cunt of yours squeezing my dick…" he shuddered, so caught up in the thought of her wrapped around him that he couldn't finish the sentence.

Mary-Margaret should have been horrified by the callous, crudeness of his words; any decent woman would have been. She'd always thought of herself as one of those women, so when a flood of arousal filled her panties at the words he uttered while biting her neck, she was thoroughly mortified.

She didn't have time to really think on it, because Jackson whirled her around and with one swipe of his arm, cleared her desk of all obstacles. With great skill and precision, he whirled her around, and before she knew what was happening, he had her zipper down, and was ripping the skirt over her hips, the material dropping until it was a dark pool wrapped loosely around her ankles.

Pushing her face down onto the desk, Jackson growled, "I'm gonna fuck you right here, Teach. But not quite yet." Mary Margaret couldn't stifle her cry of disappointment. He laughed. "Not to worry, we'll get there soon enough." Slapping her lightly on the ass, he ordered in a tone that had her sex fluttering wildly, "Don't move or I'll have to discipline you. Understand?"

Mary-Margaret was not prepared for the much sharper slap which followed. The crack of it echoed off the walls, her butt cheek throbbing from the sting, a bruise already rising from the tender flesh.

"I _said_," Jackson snarled, the tenor of his voice at odds with the soothing motion of his hand against her burning skin, "do you understand?"

Tears leaked from her tightly clenched eyes as she mumbled obligingly, "Yes."

Sounding pleased, Jackson crooned, "Good. Let's keep it that way. I don't wanna have to use my belt. You have such pretty skin that it'd be a shame to mark it up."

Mary-Margaret could not believe that she was allowing this to continue. His behavior toward her was abominable, yet she couldn't deny the fact that her body was on board all the way. She never imagined that this sort of sex play would appeal to her. Contrary to popular belief, she did have a sex life, just not a very active one as of late. If she tried really hard, she might be able to convince herself that was the true reason she was enjoying this so much. Sadly, she was a basically honest person and tried not to lie to herself if at all possible.

Jackson hunkered down, dragging her toned, snowy white thighs apart, sliding a single finger beneath the edge of the functional cotton briefs, lightly stroking across her coated slit. Whistling, he said with a mix of fascination and satisfaction, "You sure are wet, Teach. _Really_ wet."

Mary-Margaret's body went momentarily rigid when he pushed his thick fingers inside, and every nerve ending she possessed was focused on the in and out motion he was making. Instinctively, her muscles flexed around his digits, quivering with need, moisture leaking down her leg.

"Mmmmm… you hear that, Teach? That's how soaked you are. Squelching every time I shove into your pretty cunt, clutching at me real tight. Oh, yeah, you want it _real_ bad, don't ya?"

Mary-Margaret buried her scorching hot face into the folded arms beneath her bearing the indignity because she really_ did _want it, and she wanted it as badly as he was claiming she did. She couldn't hide the evidence of the sordid lust coursing out of her eager body. So, why bother trying.

"Want me to suck you dry, Teach," Jackson asked, clearly bent on making her beg for it. Drawing in a deep breath, he said raggedly, "You sure do smell fine. Give me the word and I'll clean you up real good."

He _was_ going to make her beg, the little shit. "Please," she implored, voice cracking, her pride totally shattered into smithereens.

Her small plea must have been enough because mere seconds later, she felt the rough glide of his tongue slowly gathering the thick, sticky wetness streaking the highly sensitized skin of her inner thigh. High pitched, broken gasping moans filled the still, musky air.

His fingers spread her wide, and when his finally reached the source of her arousal, Mary Margaret let out a wild, needy keen; she pushed herself harder against the questing tongue only to be disappointed when he pulled away and struck her on the bottom with such fervor, that her body shook under the force of the blow.

Mary Margaret's shoulders began to shake uncontrollably with the strength of the pitiful sobs spilling from her trembling, tear-soaked lips. She felt him peppering her wounded cheek with soft kisses and gentle licks as fingers – more tender than she thought possible for him – returned to idly stroking her neglected slit, thumb circling the over-sensitized bundle of nerves sitting just above.

Then, he bit her cheek with enough force to break the skin, simultaneously giving her clit a sharp pinch. A cacophony of garbled nonsense broke through her sobs as perfectly blended sensations of pleasure and pain rushed like a freight train through every aspect of her being, wrenching from her a scream of unbridled frenzy. Completely spent, Mary Margaret collapsed into a boneless heap of quavering flesh.

There was no respite for her exhausted body, no basking in the after-glow, no leisurely caresses to follow her extraordinary sexual release; with no word of warning, Jackson man-handled her further up the desk, jerking her legs apart at an almost impossible angle, before thrusting himself roughly inside her, groaning hoarsely, "Fuck, you're tight."

He was brutal. Her body bounced forward and back, skin scraping harshly against the surface of her desk, knees rebounding painfully off the sides. He bottomed out inside her, swiveling and gyrating his hips with each powerful piston, gripping her at the waist with clutching fingers that bruised. It was excruciatingly painful, it was beyond twisted, and maybe she was twisted too because she _relished _every minute of it. Every labored grunt, every arduous groan, every offensive word he strung together and ground out between gritted teeth was strangely melodic.

"Christ," Jackson breathed hoarsely against the damp flesh of her neck. "Gonna come, Teach… gonna come so fucking hard."

Mary Margaret felt a familiar tingling beginning to swell in her belly, renewed juices making his now erratic assault on her slick pussy less painful. Her muscles tensed around his dick, fluttering feverishly in expectation of another orgasm. Purposefully, she tightened her muscles into a steel-trap like grip, and was rewarded with a litany of filth that drove her over the edge, having her cry out in a deafening roar; throat raw and stinging.

Jackson leaned closer, mouthing at her shoulder through the thin material of her blouse. His sweat dripping on her cheek should have been gross, but she found herself trying to reach the salty moisture with her tongue because if she wasn't going to get the chance to taste his come, then she was going to enjoy the tangy, saltiness of this bodily fluid.

He was close. Mary-Margaret could feel the moment approaching by the tensing of his muscular chest and arms, by the moist, heavy, stuttering puffs of air hitting the column of her throat, and by the sudden uneven pistoning of his chiseled hips.

If she hadn't been imprisoned by the heavy weight of his spectacular body, Mary- Margaret would have jack-knifed off the desk when he took the meatiest juncture of her neck between his teeth and bit down in such an animalistic manner that she felt the skin crack wide open. Unreasoning panic had her screaming and flailing uselessly against him. The deep rumble of his laughter was followed quickly by a robust thrust of such magnitude, she was sent her skittering nearly off the far edge of the desk.

She was sobbing hysterically, struggling against his iron tight hold when she abruptly felt him twitch inside of her, grunting and growling like the rabid animal he was as he came, pulsing over and over until he was bone dry, collapsed atop her shuddering form.

For a minute, the only sounds in the room was Mary Margaret's quiet weeping and Jackson's rapid wheezing as he struggled to fill his lungs with air, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen, trying his damnedest to stay fully aware.

Planting a sloppy, haphazard kiss on her battered shoulder, he remarked in a honey-tipped, raspy tone, "Holy fuck, Teach. That was way better than I expected. You were really something. Hell, I'm looking forward to my next lesson. Same time tomorrow?"

Mary-Margaret was disgusted with herself. Disgusted that the merest suggestion of another rendezvous with this sadistic vermin had her heart hammering and her pussy throbbing in anticipation. If he was a sadist did that make her a masochist? The answer to her question came when she uttered almost against her will, "I'll be here."


End file.
